


beliefs you wanna break

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: American South, M/M, More tags to follow, Religion, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-18 13:56:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17582177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: The prayer ends and Tony’s ready to slip out during the offering when the kid steps up to the mike. Even beneath the gold robes, Tony can see he’s small. But he’s got this earnest look on his face, brown hair curling around his ears, and the kind of rosy cheeks traced into old paintings. The kid opens his mouth, and the first words of Amazing Grace ring through the air.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony sits on an ugly, blue-cushion pew way in the back of a white-painted church. He sits there stone faced, sweating in the August heat, and stares at the pulpit that was once his own. The blond standing in the spot-light, red-faced and loud, is much better suited to this congregation with his fire and brimstone. His, _the world is ending, thanks to the heathens among us._

Tony doesn’t exactly disagree, with him, but he thinks _logs in eyes, and all that._

It’s been too long, and not long enough, since Tony last set foot in a church. A smarter man might’ve picked a different congregation, but Tony grew up in this church. He was baptized in the pool behind the pulpit, under the gaudy cross someone has pulled back out. He knew he should’ve trashed the damn thing.

It’s hot. Sweltering and sticky and Tony’s blue button up is sticking to his back, trapped there by the suit coat he’s wearing. He half wishes he’d forgone the tie, but images and traditions. He rolls his neck, listening to the creaking and wonders _did my sermons feel this long?_

A quick peek at his watch and he knows they didn’t. A least he knows the lunch crowd will mostly have dispersed by the time they’re let out. He can’t help tapping his fingers against the wooden bench, digging them into the gap between the ancient cushion and the splintery wood. The lady down the bench cuts her eyes at him and sits up a little straighter, licking her finger just to find the next verse in the passage.

It would bother Tony more if he didn’t remember her, red-eyed and stumbling into her seat. He stares her down, and she huffs, turns back to her Bible.  His skin prickles, just below his hairline, and he swings his eyes back up to the preacher. He studies the blond a little harder, taking in the sharp cut of his suit, the silky purple of his tie. There’s a ring glinting on his finger, stones large enough that Tony can see their shine from the back, and a tie-clip to match.

Tony wears church good, but even he hadn’t looked that smart up there. He strokes a hand down the side of his beard, taking in the clean cut of the man up front. He doesn’t miss shaving.

“Let us pray.”

Tony starts in his seat. His cheeks flush as he realizes he’s missed the end of the sermon, and his gut churns uncomfortably as he folds his hands and tilts his head. He’d sworn, when he walked in this morning he’d be good, be _better._

He wouldn’t be the guy who’d tossed his Bible into the baptismal and stormed his way out fo God’s House.

He’s promised God a lot of things though, and there’s enough scars on his knuckles and lies under his chin for him to know he’s broken just as many. The prayer ends and Tony’s ready to slip out during the offering when the kid steps up to the mike. Even beneath the gold robes, Tony can see he’s small. But he’s got this earnest look on his face, brown hair curling around his ears, and the kind of rosy cheeks traced into old paintings. The kid opens his mouth, and the first words of Amazing Grace ring through the air.

Tony feels like he’s been punched in the gut, and he knows everyone else is standing but he collapses against his pew, everything he’s been running from under the glow of too many lights. The kid sings, voice high and sweet and and so sincere Tony swears he can _feel_ the Holy Spirit slinking down his spine. That’s the reason he shivers, the one and only reason.

And then the song is over, and Tony’s face is flushed. The crowd shuffles out slow and pious, though they’ll be speeding towards lunch. Tony’s hands shake and he grips the pew in front of him and prays, _Please, God._

He’s not exactly sure what he is praying for, but God is silent.

He has been for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters may or may not get short or longer.
> 
> give pepper some love?

IThe door to Tony’s office groans open, and he winces. He needs to remind Happy to oil it later, if the groundskeeper has time. But he doesn’t look up from Leviticus to see who is interrupting him. He can smell the Gardenia perfume Pepper wears well enough in the tiny little space and he smiles into his lap.

She sets a plate of sandwiches in front of him, and a glass of lemonade, before pushing at his shoulders so he’ll slide his chair back. Her blond hair is pulled back from her face and tied with a yellow ribbon that matches the the sunny dress she’s wearing, but he can tell she’s had a long day by the smear of pink lipstick on the corner of her mouth and the wisp curling around her cheeks.

She coughs, jerking in his lap, and her eyes water. Tony holds her close as she clears her lungs, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

“How’s Leviticus?” She asks once she’s caught her breath. Tony doesn’t like her clear dismissal, but he shrugs, causing her to move with him.

“Priestly and holy,” he says, a bit sullen.

Pepper pats his chest as she curls against him, head lolling on his shoulder. “Well Mr. Preacher, you said you wanted to teach book by book, and that means the boring ones too,” her tone is serious but even with her head tilted he can see the smile curling at her lips.

Tony rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around her waist. “I don’t think the preacher’s wife is really allowed to call a book ‘boring.’”

Pepper laughs that buttery sound that makes Tony warm, “Haven’t you heard Tony? The Preacher’s family is usually the worst.”

Tony snorts, “Pretty sure that’s referring to the kids. The wife is supposed to be a saint boarding on prudish.”

Beneath him Pepper stiffens, and for a moment Tony can’t remember why. Then his whole body slumps and he kisses her temple, fingers ghosting over her belly. “I’m sorry babe, that was a poor joke.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” But she gets up from his lap and Tony can see that her cheeks are still flushed and her eyes a little glassy. She coughs again, hard, and Tony half-stands with his hands hovering at her waist unsure of how to help her. Someone knocks on the door and Tony calls for them to enter.

Happy bustles in with a tea cup he passes to Pepper and it’s a little disconcerting for Tony. Happy shrugs at him. “Was passin by when I heard her coughing. She had left this out on the welcome table and I was bringing it to her.”

Happy sets the china down and backs out of the room quickly. Pepper grabs the little cup in trembling hands and downs in it about two swallows. Tony frowns at her and she catches the look. “Don’t, Tony. It’s just like cough syrup. It’s the only thing that works.”

Tony holds a hand up, “No, I know. I know. But maybe go a little easy on it okay? Doc says you’re supposed to be relying on it less. Take it slow, you know?”

Pepper sets the china down hard, so hard they both check to see if it cracked. “It was mostly honey, alright Tony? Just a little bit of honey.”

Tony nods his assent, unease still sitting heavy in his chest. Pepper sighs and runs a hand through her hair, displacing more loose curls. She takes a moment to try and smooth them down before giving up altogether and wiping her hands on her dress. “Look, you finish up here and come on home. I’ve gotta finish cooking and clean up a bit. Ladies’ Dinner is tonight and you promised you’d help me set up.” She leans in and kisses his cheek, smiling when he turns his head to kiss her lips. She’s out the door before he can say much.

Tony presses a finger to his lips. His tongue darts out to lick them, and the honey taste is almost nonexistent between the whiskey flavor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise there is a plan, but i do not promise regular updates, tho i will try.

Tony doesn’t go to church the next Sunday. It feels wrong, in a way skipping for the last five years hadn’t. Like he’s six again, and sticking the thermometer next to the oven to get out of wearing his Sunday best. He doesn’t go, though. He just gets in his ‘67 cadillac, inherited from his father, and he drives.

Down the dust lanes and past the peach orchards. A part of him wants to get out, to pluck the ripe fruit from the trees, but mostly he wants to be anywhere but this damn, cursed town. 

It’s too hot, his white shirt sticking to his back, his jeans sticking to the leather seats. Tony does really think about any of this until the car is idling beside a wooden-fence. 

The grass is half-way up his calves and cicadas sing their warning. Tony turns the car off and pockets the keys as he pushes a rickety gate. He’s trespassing, as he curves his way between rusted tractors and chicken coops. But there’s a pond about a mile from the gate that Tony used to spend a lot of time splashing about it. 

When he finally finds it, it’s shallow and muddy, stagnant-sitting like time rest heavy on it too. Tony kicks off his shoes and rolls his pant legs up. The murky water is sun warm and slime-slick around his ankles.

He’s not sure what he’s doing out here. Praying, maybe, though he can’t remember the last real prayer he uttered. Longer than since he last stood at a pulpit, probably. Mostly he stands with his hands in his pocket and a strap of silk tight around his neck. 

The sun has crested high and started dipping back down by the time Tony makes his way back to town, dusty and red. He is sweating through everything, and starving. There are a lot of local eats he could stop at, fried chicken and greens, or pot pies and casseroles, but his stomach is churning and he’s not sure how heavy a meal he can eat. If he remembers right, there’s a little sandwich joint tucked away somewhere, a true hole-in-the wall almost forgotten by most people.

He drives in circles around the same three blocks before he finally notices the rusted sign. Parking is… limited, but he finds an empty patch of concrete and turns the car off. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s too late for lunch and kind of early for supper, but there’s a kid at the counter inside and the sing is flipped to open still. 

He pushes the door and wrinkles his nose at the tinny bell announcing his entrance. The kid doesn’t look up from his phone as he waves a vague hand. An older woman with greying hair slips out from the back to greet him, wacking the kid with a towel as she passes. 

“Sit anywhere you want, Peter’ll be right with you,” she calls with a friendly smile. 

Tony nods at her and picks a booth in the back. The places is decorated in cheery yellows and faded reds,  _ this whole damn town a faded red _ , and gingham tablecloths. A laminated menu is plopped in front of him and Tony takes it gratefully, only mildly offended by its stickiness 

There are sixteen sandwich options, with a choice of vegetables, fries, and homemade potatoes skins. He knows what he wants easily though, one of the few things not fried or slathered in mayonnaise. He’s just about decided on the egg-and-tomato on sour-bread when a glass of lemon-water lands before him.

Tony flicks his eyes up in thanks and chokes on air.

Up close, the kid isn’t quite a kid, but he is definitely just as skinny. Lean, really, in his ridiculous khakis and his tragic teal-blue polo. There’s a damn apron tapped around his waist, and a pen tucked behind his ear. Tony stares at the kids rosy lips, until a blush-pink tongue darts out to wet them and he  _ has _ to look away. 

The kid gives him a curious once over, before smiling brightly. “Hi! I’m Peter. Know what you want yet?” 

Tony nods his head and Peter gives him an odd look. He shifts on his foot, brows curling in. “Uhm, did you want to know the specials…?” He says in that high tenor voice. 

Tony doesn’t blush, he never has. But his cheeks are a little warm when he points to the egg-sandwich. 

“And to drink?” 

Tony picks up his water and shrugs. Peter’s lips purse and his cheeks dimple just a hint, and Tony realizes the kid is  _ laughing _ at him but he chokes back the liquid. He definitely watches as Peter walks away though, eyes glued to the khaki clad ass.

Tony folds his hands and closes his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.


End file.
